


CHIMERAN SOUL

by hakaibunshi



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Prideshipping, Scandalshipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29241309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hakaibunshi/pseuds/hakaibunshi
Summary: AU/ not canon complient.In their scandalous affair, Pharaoh Atem & High Priest Seth swear - prompted by an ill omen, a prophecy, pointing at the two being separated - that their love will not yield to fate, not ever.Even after Atem’s passing, Seth holds on to this promise. Lifetime after lifetime after lifetime he searches for Atem, until his own soul is worn down and fading. It’s only when the Millennium Puzzle is solved, and Atem’s soul - stripped of his own memories - is freed, that Seth starts to resurface within his host, finally hoping to reunite what was always meant to be together.
Relationships: Atem/Kaiba Seto, Atem/Priest Seto
Comments: 16
Kudos: 13
Collections: Dark Valentines of Dimensions 2021





	CHIMERAN SOUL

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arkadyevna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arkadyevna/gifts).



> SO I guess this is my Valentine present for Cain!  
> Happy Valentine!〆(●´Д｀●)  
> I am excited and nervous at once. Because it is a little strange and ... I don't know, I just hope it might be something to your liking~  
> (fingers crossed!)
> 
> ※ I suck at deciding, which is why... we ended up with pride AND scandal. And also multiple prompts. SO have fun finding them in there~  
> ※ took my liberty on the angst note _(┐「ε:)_

It all started a couple of days ago. I used to have trouble falling asleep, but not since I started attending local high school classes every once in a while. Out of curiosity. Perhaps that had a good effect on me. Although, I suddenly started to dream a lot, too. Some of the dreams fade from my conscience almost instantly after waking up, but others stick around just like memories. I don’t think I like it much. It’s rather distracting. Could be the downside of spending too much time around teenagers.

***

### Day 7. Nightfall

His skin is barely human. Soft. Synthetic. _Expensive._ The thick night swallows us so nothing exists but him and me and what we touch.

His fingers play me like an instrument, gently counting my ribs. The tip of his hair teases my nose. His mouth and mine construct a point where our connection is holy. And blasphemous. His tongue tries my upper lip before he bites my lower. But he isn’t the only one with fangs. I dug my nails into the flesh between his thigh and his derriere, to make him moan into me. The darkness, too, is a slave to him, enhancing his every sound. "Don’t go," he whispers against my mouth and I try to swallow the reminder of my duties before it can reach my ears, but by the tragedy of words, they’re already spoken.

"Never, my king," I declare.

Not even the night’s opacity can hide the fragments of shadow walking the bridge of his nose. Cheekbones struck by moonlight. Hair rich with oils and sweat, catching the smallest idea of reflection.

Counting kisses like stars, I drown in him. _How many?_

"Yet I see you fading already, it’s like you’re only half here." In fruitless efforts to merge two into one he presses himself into me. While the details of his features are swallowed by the night, his shape is revealed to me completely. So delicate in my hands I have to wonder how his presence is so endless. I take his kisses, one after the other, and lean in just to get one more. And one more. _And one more._ So greedy. _Half gone!_ I want to prove him wrong, clinging to him with a desperation that makes me cringe.

Through the hollow of the night which would remain only for another hour or two, I move below the thin cotton blanket, swirling down on him. My hands, reluctant to let go of his chest, still caress his shivering complexion, and trail across his belly while my chin already touches the rougher patch, where the hair was shaved off his pudency. I taste him everywhere I can. Muffled by his own hands, he gasps. "That’s gonna leave a mark."

Yes, it will. Right there, in the softest fold of skin between his perfect thigh and his shame.

Oh, it will.

I wake up tired and heavy-headed and way before my alarm. Waking up tired is nothing unusual. The _fantasies_ are. Damn headaches. I rub my eyes, but the pressure just gets worse. That boy’s touch. So unbecoming, even for a goddamn dream. And god, that awfully venereal aftertaste. I pinch my lips shut to fight the urge to lick them; flinching just at the thought of it. Instead, I try rubbing my forearm across, but it doesn’t help much. And it’s not even the worst. I reach inside my pants. My inner thighs are sticky. I pull my hand back and my legs toward my body but it’s nothing but additional discomfort. A brand new kind of violation. Hopefully not one I have to get used to.

No. It’s alright. It’s _whatever._ Human nature doesn’t fluster me. I'm mildly surprised to find myself fantasizing about another boy, but so be it. It doesn’t make a difference. Physical needs, of whatever nature, are a minor inconvenience at best. I had just hoped to uncover these particular ones a few years further down the line. Really didn’t mind being late to this party.

### Day 12. Sleep terrors

My hands are frozen. I can’t move them, nor do I want to. An unspeakable burden cripples my shoulders. But do I carry it? Does another?

I try to stand, lift myself off the stone that is so rough against my soul. And then I see him. And understand at once, why I'm in so much pain.

 _My love._ Gouged in stone. Stiff, silent, and cold he remains royal. Sitting in reign, eyes darting across the world. But not at me, not ever again. Not meant to see the living.

What even is this caricature? Too hollow to fill his place, too solid to not demand my attention whenever I step close. Doesn't look anything at all like him, and yet so much so, with all it's gruesome details. I hate it with everything I am. But, well, I didn't mandate this for my comfort. Not to elevate my pain but to pay respect to him. My king, whom I disrespected so thoroughly in his lifetime. The more I look at it, the less vivid my memories become. _It drains me._ I dread the day that I will think of him and not remember that radiant boy, but this stone imposter in my temple.

My hands reach for his skirt, their sight making me frown. Still strong enough to carry a weapon, strong enough to lead a country. But too weak to hold a heart. They lost all their softness; just dry bones and dry skin and brittle nails. I feel dead despite the color spilling from my fingers, as they scratch themselves bloody on his lithic skin. If my blood is all the life he can have, I shall give it. All my promises of forever amount to nothing but mahagony ink on his dryness. But not art, just _dirt_ . Dirt on his thighs which I ache to clash my teeth against. My favorite meal never to fill me up again. Dirt on his chest, which will never grow to the size of mine, like he always dreamed it would. Stains on his hands. On his neck and his cheeks. I smear myself into his eyes. I don’t need him to _see._

"Kiss me," my breath demands onto his stone-cold lips like I could wheeze that life right back into him. How I survive his unyielding silence, I don’t know. It burns me from the inside out, right before the cold tackles my heart. I throw myself away. It hurts. My nails splint on his heavy knees, down his leg. I wish to cut a wound, deep enough to scar him. It's his fault, all of it.

He left! He knew I wouldn't refuse his plea for me to take his throne. And he knew that he would leave me a ghoul. My heart rotting between his buried fingers. He knew I would suffer lifelong torture with no hope for redemption at the end of it! And yet! He left me.

And I hate to wake up in the mornings, wake from sleepless nights because no rest could be where his soul is no longer. I hate the food they serve me as they had served him before, like it doesn’t make a difference. I hate this temple that holds his name and his statues and his secrets, I hate them so deeply I want to spit it all out here before his lifeless image. Tears and blood and spittle on the sand, eyes burning from dirt. I hate that he left me to wake up without him. I hate that he left me to grow old, cursed with health and vigor. I hate his laugh that follows the nights. Haunting me! But mostly, I hate the way I still don’t hate him. That gaping black maw in my chest still aches for him as if something rotten remained there; will it ever stop reaching?

I jerk up, struck by a phantom! And panting so loud it could wake the entire neighborhood! Hyperventilating? No! No, I got this! I check the room left and right but don’t know what for. Nothing but strange shadows on the walls.

The stone has turned to sheets in my fingers, but the terror just won’t seize. I'm shaking. Panicked! My jaw hurts, and I can’t unclench it. Am I crying? I am! Worse than the sobbing itself is listening to its raucous staccato as I struggle for air. My face is all wet. My chest vacant but tight, maybe I'm having a stroke. No. No, no. Try to remember. This is just one of those dreams! _This!_ —isn't _my_ loss. I have not lost anyone in a long time. Calm down. Count!

It's difficult at first, but I'm not known for giving up. I pull my limbs close to my chest and force my fingers around my wrists, my ankles, putting pressure on my aching joints until the pain from inside is outweighed by the one from outside. Around four or five, I can perceive actual words between the gasps.

The sobbing stops at fifteen. Never once did I have to count above ten.

The grief would go on for days.

### Day 16. Daydreams

I hate having to wait for Isono after school. I can walk through the storm, I don’t care. But father will be wild if I get the uniform ruined. So I wait, leaning against the wall, safe from the downpour, and watch them.

Mazaki and Mutou. He looks so stupid when he’s all flustered. I roll my eyes, and when I look again a different person peeks at me from underneath his wet bangs. I stiffen and blink, but the impression is gone.

How odd.

I recoil. Something on my cheek! The ghostly touch of a hand. Perforce, my fingers try to verify it, but, of course, nothing’s there. Suddenly, the rain is extremely loud. Who _was_ that boy? Argh, these cursed headaches. I find myself amid a violent turmoil. Something stings my eyes. I try to blink it away, but the discomfort only grows. Sand and dirt and water sprawl around me.

My heart sinks into my chest, but already, his tight grip guides my hand to find his face. He's laughing, water spraying from his lips. "We should hurry, Seth!" he shouts and, disoriented, my fingers brush his hair aside and his wet face presses into the touch, as if to aid a yearlong craving.

"I keep you safe!" I claim. He laughs even louder, though the current swallows his beautiful noises.

"This is nonsense, Seth! Has Egypt ever seen a sky this violent!" He throws himself against me. His frame feels more than familiar but his lips are a little different. Wet. And plumpish. Our tongues appear dry against our rain-stained faces, and quickly his mouth becomes a shelter for me and my affection.

"The gods must be angry with my heinous violations against you," I susurrate into his ear, and feel shame for the guilt in my voice. I _shouldn't_ feel guilty for worshipping him above any other god. But we are still so very young then. I will learn this.

He kisses my forehead. And my nose. And then carries his sharp-edged words by his teeth onto my lips. "Let them be furious." I shudder. His declaration of war against the pantheon, barely audible over nature’s violence, was heard by everything that mattered in the universe. Before I can speak, a hefty crack has us both wince, the ear-splitting noise of solid wood shattering into pieces against the riverbank behind us. He chimes in with a muffled shriek, escaping him in spite of his ever fearless facade. I find it endearing. Somewhere a small fisher boat is now drifting apart. Torn into countless bits and pieces. I swallow a lump in my throat, dead set on refusing to see the warning in all this.

I survey my hand. As I had that time when I grieved him. My fingers are small and thick. _It’s not chronological_ …

He pulls me into the folds behind some rocks, where we cower against the cold wetness. He's so young, so daring. Doesn’t care about the servants shouting for him in the distance. His hands pull my face so he can reap all the kisses he wants. I would never deny him. _But what if someone finds us?_ "No one will," he says in his wicked manner and pushes me against the stones. "Can I tell you a secret?"

These are no dreams. I try to catch myself. _I'm at school._ There is a storm but beside me no rocks or sand or plants, no river. Just the damp hard wall in my back that _feels_ just like a barrier of rocks.

The noise becomes deafening. "Please do," I huff into him.

I’m _not_ sleeping! I'm at school. This isn’t even me. I inspect my hand again. I have had a scar since I was five. But never in those dreams.

My body aches, realizing that it isn’t my own. But _he_ feels so right, always. _My love._ Through the thick, dirty filter of heavy rain, I try to hold onto him.

His wet lips push against my ear, drizzling water into me so I pull up my shoulders and the stiff collar of the school uniform pokes my chin. My eyes blink into the rain, they hurt, but I _do_ need to see him.

"You must promise never to tell anyone, but me." His voice is thin and disembodied. My lungs dry at the thought that he won’t make it.

I reach for his face, want to grab it so he can’t disappear but he's so far away. Across the street with Mazaki, hair dripping.

"Seth! Promise."

"I promise!"

"There's a prophecy. I overheard Mahad and Isis speak the other day. And I know it is regarding me. ...I don’t think we have much time left together."

"What—" 

"You shan't be frightened, Seth. It's true, we might lose each other for what I understand. But I also know the love they were speaking of. Unbroken forever, they said." He smiles. It's the kind of smile that tries to be brave but taste bitter. "You will find me, no matter what. Right?" He whispers with the warmth against my hearing slowly dispersing. "And when you do, please—"

His words drown as the rain clashing onto the roof above me swallows the last of him.

It’s not just any boy. It’s _always_ him. But why is his face obscured every time? By darkness, by bedsheets, by tears, by torrential rain?

When eventually I pull my eyes away from Mutou who smiles just like him in a way, when my senses finally come back to me, empty space is all that's left beside me.

All this isn’t real! And no dream either. And it has _nothing_ to do with Yugi Mutou. Just my mind playing tricks on me. My own memories of one of my classmates lumped together with something else. Someone else’s memories. _Pff._ Who even is this? Who are you? What is this story? You had a lover once and you lost him? Is _that_ it?

Just that moment, Isono arrives. The limousine rides up and my brother’s snotty face greets me through the rain-swept window. He’s probably the reason I had to wait.

This isn’t _me._ This isn’t _my_ problem. And _I suggest you get the fuck over it, just like other people do_ , I think to the one behind my eyes, and get in the car.

### Day 21. Lucid dreams

I wake up, knowing that I didn’t. Fully aware. He's here, looking into me. Breathing was never this easy. It tickles my throat. The skin of my lids moves against my cornea, it almost drives me crazy, not least because of the micro-worry he might be gone again after blinking once too often. I’m trapped in slow motion. Maybe because my mind is thick with two layers. _The other one_ just behind myself.

Your hand reaches for his face but it's _mine_ that sways aside the loose ends of his hair. His eyes open and I wonder if he can recognize you in the dark behind me. Can he _feel_ you there like I do? I don’t think he can. He looks only at me. He _sees_ me. Inside, my organs vibrate.

And for the first time, I see him clearly, too. In a paradoxical way, I am ultra-awake. It’s not Yugi Mutou. Some similarities, but they’re more different than they're alike.

He's beautiful — his eyes full of _fight._ Despite the mat finish of sleepiness. So that's the kind of person he is. Always ready to challenge the world. I don’t know if the expansion in my chest is you or me, sometimes it’s hard to tell. You’re scared, aren’t you? He was looking for you for such a long time, but he found _me._ The skin on his fingertips is searing, I can't fight the urge to check if they leave marks on my shoulder.

They trail toward my ear. My chin. By the time he touches them to my lips, I'm thoroughly set on fire.

I had no idea infatuation feels like this.

Is this how _you_ felt every night you spent with him? I know by now that these moments are your memories. Too much detail for dreams, way too little to be reality. 

Well. You left me no choice but to make them _mine._ I am _myself_ now, even within the visions. If only you weren’t always there in the depth of my morrow. But I will take care of that soon enough. _You don’t deserve him._

His finger traces the curves of my ear, and that gentle stroke there has me shrug. A millisecond of weakness in the face of something so much more brutal than any of father’s rulers slapped across my skin. No. _No._ I shall not be afraid of emotions, not of anything. I don’t _want_ to be. His smile smells like sun on dry air, almost but not quite distracting from his dulcet words. I have to make an effort to take them for their meaning and not just their alluring melody. "I once tried to tell you about the prophecy, didn't I?" His voice is a rumble in my chest and makes my body itch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m high.

"Yes. I remember."

"Will you find me?" He mellows against the palm of my hand, his eyes peeking up at me. The scar he shouldn’t know doesn’t seem to bother him.

"Always," I promise so brassy it leaves my throat sore. Your word, not mine. He finds my lips.

"What if it takes a lifetime? Or more?" Tears behind my eyes again. I don’t know who he's talking to, I suppose it's you. In a short flare of steadfast rebellion, your voice hijacks my vocal cords.

"There could be no abyss great enough so I won’t find my way across to hold you."

His forehead against mine. "If that abyss is time itself, my love... how will you cross it?"

My hands are shaking but my voice returns to me. You’re just a huff in my lungs. "Time is because _I_ acknowledge it. And means nothing without that."

"So you promise to never forget about me?"

"I swear."

"Is that your final answer?" I have never seen such confidence in another — confidence in _me._ I don’t know what he is talking about, but he has no doubt that he can be saved if only I will promise it.

"Yes," I answer in your stead, which tastes like blood and spring and greed. _I want this._ I don’t care who you are.

And I don’t know who he is, but he’s like no one I have ever met. You might have crawled into my mind but my _body_ is mine alone. The need I feel for him is _my_ need.

His lips part so invitingly. He can’t tell the difference between you and me, or he chose not to care. If by a hormone-driven bodily dysfunction, my heart will explode in my sleep tonight, so be it. I close my eyes, he tastes like honey. His hips push closer. His fingers are everywhere at once, while mine don’t know where to go first. Finally, I find his thigh and pull it up to suit my shape. The hot air inside us swallows the oxygen. _I don’t care._ I _want_ to fall unconscious inside this kiss that strips away my stiff shoulders. And the tired bags beneath my eyes. And the scars on my back. Until I'm nothing but myself, and no things are of importance besides the points of contact between us: Two faces. Two bellies, two groins, and some percentage of two pairs of legs entangled.

We still run out of air. Even within this dream, we are bound to the ridiculous confines of _your_ memories. Slowly, but sure enough, these tangencies fall away until his smile against my lip is all that’s left. And even that starts to crawl away. I can’t look at him, so I keep my eyes shut. I don’t care to wake up now, I need to lock this moment away; it turns stale too quickly.

Small huffs of his breath fall onto my face. His hair tickles between his and my forehead. His incandescence prevails even through my tight-shut eyes. But my hands are already empty. Blind, I reach to stroke his cheek but can’t find it. I don't hear the alarm today. It’s only when Mokuba throws himself onto my bed that I open my eyes. A defeat that’s hard to swallow.

I push him off the bed because I can't tolerate anyone in _his_ spot. I'm livid with anger. Not for my brother, of course. He just doesn’t know better. 

_You!_ You think I can’t feel you beating your way up from below the world. Don’t bother! Did you think it would be easy? Did you think I would let you?

This body is _mine_.

This _mind_ is _mine_.

You have chosen your toughest opponent. I’m not _you_. You fool, you lost him once! No second chances. Stay down in the pit and watch. Ah, I can hear you protest, but your throat is bruised already.

### Day 28.

I’m at the arcade. For a long time I had stopped going because not a single person came close to the scores I set. Until recently. I was annoyed to find my record broken, but also elated. This person had, without knowing it, returned something precious to me. The excitement of taking someone else down. At first, I barely register Yugi Mutou and his pest of a friend. I couldn't care less for them. Until I hear the echo in his voice shift, that is. Not even for a second I question the certainty spreading in my guts. It’s _him._

I swallow but my throat is cotton dry. Quickly I check the display in front of me, I read the names on the high-score board and the numbers and everything appears stable and reasonable. I can see the faces of the kids around me. My heart beats so fast, drumming up my ears. Oh, I can tell you're fighting. Kick and punch all you want.

As calm as possible, although it’s all fake, I sit back in my chair and watch him. I almost prefer the dreams. Firstly, because Yugi Mutou is present here, no matter how much I want to not see it. He's the immature tinge underneath the surface. Secondly, because the distance between him and me is jarring. _I don’t like it._

But I understand now. It all starts to fall in place. You _did_ hold up to your promise. You found him. Too bad for you that you used me to do so.

I grab my briefcase and get up.

"Yugi," I demand his attention, hoping he would respond to this name. He does. His eyes burn already. I've seen it so many times. My fingers tingle with excitement. Just how much does he see when looking at me? See me! "How about a game?" His pointless friend starts talking but it doesn't even register. It must be him. He's the one cracking the scores. He's all challenge and no bagging down, just how I knew he would. I tremble just by looking at him.

"Bring it on," he grins widely. Chin high, shoulders back. My heart races and I become weightless. I almost question the moment. Is it really happening? But it is indeed. 

Well, _Seth._

Time to kiss your dreams goodbye. I won’t make the same mistake as you.

I won’t _ever_ lose him.

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who made it down to here: thank you very much! 
> 
> The longer I worked on this, the more it slipped out of my hands and in the end I had no idea anymore if it actually worked or not.  
> If you have any comments especially in regards to the shift in perspective (was it noticable at all? If so, was it endurable or rather annoying?) I'd love to hear it .  
> ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ
> 
> **  
> Find me on [Tumblr](https://hakaibunshi.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mugennaphantasm)


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